


Slow Build/Spontaneous Combustion

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 15:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ as I transfer my fics over.4 drabbles.  Prompted by Glacial_Pace.  Miranda seducing a reluctant Emily.





	Slow Build/Spontaneous Combustion

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The first drabble takes the positive-post-it note idea from Pdt_bear…

_**Slow Build/Spontaneous Combustion** _

 

 **#1: The Pursuit**  
  
     I admit it—I drooled when I got my first post-it note of praise.  They are the holy grail of working for the Dragonlady—whispered object of untold value, stuff of legends, rarer than a dancing panda bear in a tutu.  That did not mean that I was interested in seeing the Dragon’s soft underbelly.  
  
     Hero worship, professional adoration, and kissing the ground she struts on are all things I would readily admit to.  I wanted to work at Runway the way that other children wanted to grow up and be astronauts or the Prime Minister.  My classmates and I shared a passion for the possible—I am the only one to have traveled so far or reached so high.  My goal is within reach and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
     Until now.  Until this traffic circle that I cannot get out of without losing my very chance at attaining my long sought after greatness.  I go round and round and round.  Every time I see my way out, a way to stop this madness, I miss it and get stuck again.  It started with a post-it note of praise.  It became a gardenia professing secret love.  It has changed from looks of appraisal to looks of desire.  A harsh dismissal has been replaced with a tone that asks for more.  There is a line and Miranda is dancing on it, tantalizing and torturing me.  
  
     I’m not built like that.  I’ve slept with half of the available male designers and photographers—the other half were gay and we’ve developed quite inappropriately fond relationships.  Miranda would die if she knew how I was able to carry on with these men partly for her benefit.  Whorish, I’m sure she would call it with a lip twitch.  Slapstick-ish-ly inappropriate she would say for the rest of it.  After all I’m the assistant with the make-up sense and the fashion sense.  The one with the respect for fashion and understanding that Miranda needs certain things to make her day more successful—like hot coffee, assistants that do as they are told and designers and photographers who can get it right the first time.  If my body can lend a hand in fine-tuning that—then I am sure that I don’t mind.  It truly is my pleasure to revel in what they can offer and I can’t help it if my body cries out for release more than most.  
  
     She has stopped sending me on errands and my amusements do not call me.  It has become frustrating to be courted by this woman as she slowly takes all of my pleasures away.  I feel like a mouse skittering to and fro as the cat closes in on its quarry.

 

  
  
**#2: Resistance**  
  
     “Emily.”  Her voice rang out from the inner office—a low siren-call that vibrated low in her throat.  She no doubt delights in the heart stopping effects she has on her staff.  I stood there for what must have been a full minute (but felt like 25) just waiting for her to assign the usual litany of commands.  When she did not I looked up.  I knew the mouse had been caught by the cat by the smirk teasing at the edges of her mouth.  I had not been let out of the office except to ride with her highness for the last two months.  My body was strung tight like a bow-string waiting to be pulled back and released.  I had no doubt that Miranda had become aware of this from my fidgeting, the slightly off interactions of the designers and photographers who were now dealing with Annoying Andy, and the way I had begun to defiantly hold her gaze.  “Are you done resisting me, Emily?”  My knees almost gave out as the syllables of my name poured out of her mouth, but I defiantly held her blue eyes in mine.  “No?”  She said it as an amused question and carried on, “Starbucks then.  Since I’ve sent Andrea out to Calvin Klein.”  She held my gaze longer and I felt like I was being turned on a spit as she continued to fuck me with her eyes.  Would she hold me there consuming me with her desire or release me to get her precious Starbucks?  
  
     Before leaving I stopped off at the loo.  I’ll be damned if depriving me of my usual sports and devouring me with her eyes and consuming me with her question wasn’t having an effect on me.  My panties had the proof to wave like a white flag of surrender.  I may not have been built that way, but my wiring may have been adjusted sometime in the last two years of hero worship.  ‘Emily, resistance is futile.’  ‘Great.’  Now my mind is conjuring up conquering things for Miranda to say.  Who is in charge of me again?

 

  
  
**#3: Checkmate**  
  
     Another gala only this time Miranda has sent Andrea on her way.  I really don’t see how the brunette has lasted this long, although perhaps Miranda has a game to play with her as well.  I would not be surprised if all of Miranda’s mannerisms are sport at the root.  Sure she is effective and enigmatic and that gets things done and draws people in, but I’m sure she could change things if she wanted.  Andrea could probably make a better cup of coffee than Starbucks and a coffee machine in the kitchen would save a lot of wasted time.  I know that Miranda would never change that because it is much too entertaining for her to see her scramble to beat the time frame.  
  
     I have trailed behind Miranda for hours whispering in her ear.  I have fought the urge a dozen times to flee to the bathroom and take the edge of my arousal off, but I am sure that Miranda would know what I had done.  Her shrewd hunting senses would sense that immediately.  Every time I see one of my conquests in the crowd I am tempted to make an excuse to talk—to try to find a way to drag them into the hall or onto a balcony and in cave man fashion have my way with them.  It is always at this moment that Miranda turns to me with her hand on my forearm and she reminds me of a task in the upcoming weeks.  I’m not sure if she can read minds, send out sonar, or simply has ESP.  In any case, it is unnerving.  My panties are soaked and my legs shake slightly when I have to move after standing still centimeters from Miranda.  “Emily.”  Again her voice pours over my name like whisky over ice.  “We are leaving.”  She turns to talk to another investor leaving me to call the car.  As I hang up I realize she said ‘we’—as in her and I.  
  
     I trail her to the car on uncertain legs.  I admit the fire has begun to consume me.  With the admission has come the very real knowledge that I do not want to be Miranda’s conquest—I want to be her equal.  “Emily?”  She says it slowly as I hesitate at the car door.  I look at her and something passes between us.  I settle in next to her and instead of turning away dismissively she looks into my eyes to ask.  “What were you waiting for?”  
  
     “To be your equal.”  I murmur before I can think better of it.  I clap a hand over my mouth too late to trap in the implied acquiescence to her advances.  
  
     “Equals it will be then.”  Miranda murmurs back before taking my hand and holding it in hers.  Nothing else is said during the car ride, but her fingers never stop moving over the skin of my hand.  All too soon we are at my apartment building and I am dismissed into the night, my flesh still tingling from her almost innocent touch and my ears burning with her words.  ‘Equals then.’

 

  
  
**#4: Slow Build/Spontaneous Combustion**  
  
     She lured me in, made me admit my desire, and then made me wait:  for a new job and a few dates.  I had to wait for the bases to be rounded slowly—one base at a time.  So we did not get ahead of ourselves.  So we were equals in this.  So we could savor each moment.  
  
     By the time it was really happening I had been without sex for nearly six months.  Miranda may go over budget, she may be infuriating, but she delivers on time.  This was no different.  
  
     I have to admit that my body did in fact savor every kiss, bite, and lick as Miranda Priestly treated my body like the equal she wanted me to be.  The muscles of my abdomen spasmed as her long fingers slid down my rib cage, across my stomach and down to the patch of trimmed hair covering my sex.  Her name fell like a moan from my mouth as her fingers explored me for the first time.  Her mouth was on my nipple sucking slowly as I arched into her hand trying to encourage her to sate my desire.  She would not.  “Slow build,” she said. 

     “Spontaneous combustion,” I warned.  She smiled outright then, but still took her time.  The rhythm of her fingers teased me higher and higher.  All the while Miranda’s mouth was tasting my skin and whispering things in a throaty voice against the pulse points all over my body.  If I could do anything coherent I would have flipped us and done to Miranda what I so desperately wanted her to do to me.  I had capitulated already there was no need for torture.  But then Miranda sat up to watch as I rode the arousal she was conducting through my body with her touch.  
  
     “Miranda.”  The cry was torn from my body without permission, and yet I wanted this.  I wanted this pursuit, this domination with every fiber of my body.  “Miranda.”  I cried out again as my body locked down around her—legs snapping shut, arms reaching out to her and body sitting up as if I could catch the wind and draw her into my very core.  She smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary and thrust into me one more time remaining there as I trembled and shuddered against her.

 

  
**  
FIN**.


End file.
